AnnaMaria
That morning started like any other. I stepped onto the balcony half-awake, planning to open the window, breathe in some fresh air, and let the day begin slowly. Instead, my eyes locked onto something that made my stomach drop.
The wall.
Something was moving inside it.
Not crawling across the surface. Not falling. Moving from within, as if the wall itself had come alive.
For a split second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Then fear rushed in all at once. My heart pounded. My palms went damp. I stood completely still, afraid that even blinking might make it worse.
The Moment Fear Took Over
At first, I thought it was a shadow. Then my mind jumped to something far worse.
A snake.
The movement wasn’t smooth, though. It was uneven and frantic. The shape didn’t glide—it jerked, paused, then moved again. Part of it was hidden inside a crack in the wall, while something long and thin twitched outside.
That made it even more terrifying.
My thoughts spiraled. Maybe it was something large trapped inside. Maybe only part of it was visible. My breathing became shallow, and my body felt frozen in place.
There’s something uniquely frightening about seeing movement where it shouldn’t exist—inside a solid wall. It feels unnatural, almost forbidden, like witnessing something you were never meant to see.
Stepping Closer, Against Every Instinct
I wanted to run. I wanted to shut the door and pretend none of it was happening.
But instead, I stepped closer.
That was when I realized it wasn’t freely moving. It was stuck.
The shape was wedged into a narrow crack in the wall. No way forward. No way back. The movement wasn’t aggressive—it was desperate. Whatever it was, it was struggling.
And then it clicked.
The Truth Revealed
It wasn’t a snake.
It was a skink—a small lizard.
Alive. Trapped. Exhausted.
Once my brain identified it, fear loosened its grip. The creature wasn’t threatening me. It wasn’t hunting or attacking. It was simply trying to escape.
Its tiny body pressed against the wall. Its legs clawed uselessly at the concrete. Its tail twitched weakly, the only part free enough to move.
What had looked horrifying seconds earlier now looked heartbreaking.
From Panic to Compassion
Seeing it struggle flipped something inside me.
Fear turned into pity.
I could tell it had been there for a while. Its movements were slower now. It wasn’t fighting wildly anymore—it was running out of energy.
I hesitated. Even harmless animals can trigger instinctive fear. But leaving it there felt wrong.
Carefully, slowly, with my heart racing, I helped ease it out of the crack.
The moment it was free, the skink froze.
Then, as if realizing it was safe, it darted away and disappeared in seconds—silent, quick, gone.
What I Learned Afterward
Later, I looked it up.
Skinks are completely harmless to humans. They aren’t venomous. They aren’t aggressive. They bite only if handled roughly or terrified beyond escape. Most of the time, they’re just shy creatures trying to stay warm or hunt small insects near buildings.
They often get stuck in wall cracks, especially on balconies where heat and shelter attract them.
Why the Experience Stayed With Me
What surprised me most wasn’t the fear—it was what came after.
Once the skink was gone, I felt calm. Grounded. Almost relieved in a way that had nothing to do with danger passing.
I realized I hadn’t just escaped something scary.
I had responded to fear with understanding.
That moment reminded me how easily our minds jump to worst-case scenarios—and how quickly terror can dissolve once we understand what we’re facing.
Sometimes, the thing that frightens us most isn’t dangerous at all. Sometimes, it’s just vulnerable.
And sometimes, helping instead of running is what finally brings peace.
